


Secher

by Lagerstatte



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Left Hand of Darkness fusion, Kemmer, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Orgasm Denial, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 04:11:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16032716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/pseuds/Lagerstatte
Summary: Ignis’ replacement had arrived the day before, to get to grips with the tasks Ignis is reluctantly surrendering to them. Ignis, therefore, goes in for a few moments only to check they’re there and have had no problems yet — unnecessary, practically an insult to their work ethic, and distinctly uncouth this far into Ignis’ cycle, but Ignis has to make sure — before heading out again. Then Ignis makes the long trip back out of the Citadel, ignoring the crowds of everyone else in their single-minded journey, their destination burning bright in their head through Insomnia’s streets and background noise of their car radio, as they hone in on where they know Noct is waiting for them.





	Secher

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fusion with Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness, where everyone is biologically androgynous for most of the time, except when in kemmer. During secher, the first stage of kemmer, an increased sex drive pushes people to find others in kemmer, where during foreplay the two (or more) people's raised hormones will push one into becoming one sex, and the other one will respond to become the other. Who becomes which is completely random. After kemmer the two people return to androgyny.
> 
> Any concrit is welcome! Thank you for reading :)

They have not vowed kemmering — they _cannot_ vow kemmering — but regardless, they have spent every somer and kemmer together for so long, their cycles match perfectly.

Ignis’ replacement had arrived the day before, to get to grips with the tasks Ignis is reluctantly surrendering to them. Ignis, therefore, goes in for a few moments only to check they’re there and have had no problems yet — unnecessary, practically an insult to their work ethic, and distinctly uncouth this far into Ignis’ cycle, but Ignis has to make sure — before heading out again. Then Ignis makes the long trip back out of the Citadel, ignoring the crowds of everyone else in their single-minded journey, their destination burning bright in their head through Insomnia’s streets and background noise of their car radio, as they hone in on where they know Noct is waiting for them.

Or, at least: on where Noct is still in bed, dozing, having turned off the alarm Ignis had set on leaving. They don’t wake as Ignis enters, locking the front door, taking off their shoes, shrugging off their coat, checking the fridge is stocked. Noct barely stirs as Ignis steps into the bedroom, undoing their shirt and trousers, slipping out of their underwear, and placing it all in the laundry basket, because they know they’re not going to be getting dressed again any time soon.

Noct does, finally, wake when Ignis crawls onto the bed, up the mattress, hand and knees over the hidden peaks and valleys of Noct’s body. It’s still not fully; Noct still has their eyes shut, brow furrowed and mouth open a tiny amount, as they stretch and groan and reach up to run their hands down Ignis’ shoulders and back, feeling the heat of their skin. Ignis bends down to kiss them, slow and lazy, opening up Noct’s mouth beneath them with lips and tongue and sweet gentleness. The gentleness won’t last: there’s a pulse in Ignis’ belly, between their legs — that familiar thrum of blood and the movement of organs, the coil of anticipation starting to wake in them, a hot, heady hunger creeping up from its dormancy. It’s joyful and thrilling and Ignis wants to roll about on the sheets like dogs do, squirming with animal pleasure. They don’t, of course, but they do pull back the covers to tuck themselves in next to Noct, and are pleased to discover Noct is also naked. Ignis presses a thigh between Noct’s legs, to the heat of them, and can feel the steady thump, thump of Noct’s pulse against their skin.

Noct groans again, arching their back and rolling their hips to rub themselves against Ignis’ thigh, a rough, dry scrape compared to how they are when female, slick enough to be dripping, or male, their erection hard and insistent, pearls of pre-come drawn on Ignis’ skin where Noct presses against them. Ignis tucks their leg up a little harder, wraps their arms around Noct’s waist to hold them tight so they can’t wriggle away. Not, Ignis suspects, that they would even if it were possible. Noct shudders, whole body pressed against Ignis’, thighs clenching down around Ignis’ thigh between their legs. They’re still sleep-flushed, soft and rumbled, and they press their mouth to Ignis’ in an untidy kiss, open, sloppy. Ignis kisses them back, moans into Noct’s mouth, gasping as Noct’s fingers tangle in their hair and pull.

They’re both still in secher, though Ignis can feel themselves start their shift into thorharmen, their blood swelling disused organs in their belly, between their legs, their potential balanced on a knife edge. They’re ripening, soon to be plump and sweet, ready for the taking, giving. And they _want_ , the way secher drives them to want, greedy but directionless: a river pushing to burst its dam, without knowing the course it’ll find once free.

Noct, too, wants, but they often take the better part of the day to shift, even just to catch up; in kemmer — in bed, apart from the rest of the world — Ignis leads.

For now, they are both without release. Noct moans in frustration as they grind against Ignis, clutching at Ignis’ back, digging their fingertips into the muscle hard enough to hurt. They rock against Ignis’ thigh, breathing hard, hips thrusting: unsteady, short little motions, rough, damp with sweat but nothing else — no slick, no precome. Not yet. Ignis can feel the beat of their pulse, quickened. They’re flushed, fever-hot — between their legs, so hot as to be almost scalding.

‘Ignis,’ Noct says into Ignis’ neck, mouthing at them, and reaches down to push a hand over Ignis’ chest, scraping down over their belly and the curve of their pubic mound, to cup them, their undifferentiated flesh. ‘Specs, fuck — fuck, please—’ Noct’s fingers press up, insistent, searching for what isn’t yet there. They rub their whole hand against Ignis, grind the heel of their palm down punishingly hard, and take a mouthful of Ignis’ neck to bite down on.

The pressure is building inside Ignis, swelling but not yet ready to break. They can feel slow shifting inside of them, a heavy pulse, their organs wavering between the two choices. ‘Noct,’ they gasp, and buck into Noct’s hand. ‘Noct.’ They press their thigh up between Noct’s legs, rubbing against them, hips jerking as Noct whimpers and whines and ruts against their tender body, sensitive skin alight with the burn and thrill of sensation.

The imprint of Noct’s teeth stings in their neck as Noct pushes them down the bed, fumbling their shoves, insistent and rough, desperate, needy. Their hands on Ignis’ head guide it to between Noct’s legs, clamping down over Ignis’ scalp and holding them there. Ignis doesn’t try to fight it; they lick at Noct, lapping at their hot, tight skin as Noct moans and sobs above them, thrusting into their face. Noct’s skin becomes wet with their saliva, slick and slippery, and Ignis’ tongue flicks over them, attempting to soothe the agony of their need, their swelling arousal that has no outlet, no orgasm.

Ignis’ own hips grind uselessly into the mattress, frustrated, desperate for a release that is still hours away.


End file.
